Alternate Endings to Smallville Episodes
by calicoskies4ever
Summary: Starting at the end of Insurgence, and continuing from there, we see what might happen between Lex and Lionel if they made different choices.  LexLionel slash. Rated M for language and upcoming chapters.  Please review, no flames, suggestions welcome.
1. Jealous Guy

Chapter One alternate endings for Smallville: season two, episode _**Insurgence**_. This is a Lex/Lionel slash piece, completely consensual on both parts. Rated M for langue and later chapters. Warning this chapter contains spoilers from _Insurgence_, and all of the episodes of season two that came before it.

"I didn't mean to hurt you,  
I'm sorry that I mad you cry,  
I didn't want to hurt you,  
I'm just a jealous guy,  
I was feeling insecure,  
You night not love me any more," John Lennon

A million thoughts went racing through my mind as my father stood there, his eyes starting at me, as if he could actually see anything. His face was just as expressive as always, he looked at me angrily, silently judging me, trying to find the exact right way to get back at me for this, the right way to punish me. _Tell him how sorry you are, _my mind came up with first, but I knew it would never work.

_What if I tell him the truth? He wasn't supposed to be there, and if he hadn't been trying to seduce a married woman, none of this would have happened._ As soon as I came up with that one I could almost hear my father's voice chastising the very thought. _'Don't be stupid, Son. If you say something along those lines, you'll lose me for sure. What's the matter, Lex? Don't you know what to tell me?'_

Even my own brain hated me by that point. I considered pledging my undying love and loyalty, instantly realizing he would only laugh at me, call me a sentimental fool, and leave nonetheless. I closed my eyes, trying to come up with one last plan, one more idea, a good one this time. I waited, and I waited, and I waited, but nothing came. _What is your problem, you idiot? You're supposed to be a genius and you can't even handle a simple apology!_

"Lex?" my father's actual voice called out to me, shattering every thought I had into tiny pieces. "I'll send someone by the mansion to pick up my things," he said, with absolutely no emotion whatsoever. _Tell him you're sorry; this is your last chance, _a voice screamed out in my mind, but I didn't listen. I never listen, not to Dad, or Clark, not even to myself.

"I'll help them pack," I told him, glad to have been able to make such a quick come back, but hating myself for pushing him away. Then I started to cry, just as he began walking toward the limo, taking someone else's hand. I ran to catch up with him, dropping to my knees in front of my father, and pulling his hands down to tear-streaked face. "Please, Dad. Please, don't walk away again. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry, please." I stayed in the same position, looking up into his eyes, through the tinted sunglasses, searching for a sense that he was feeling anything at all, but I was never able to read Dad the way he could read me, especially not at times like those.

"Get up you fool! Do you want the picture on the front page of ever paper around the world showing you on your knees, with your face pressed against the front of my trousers, in the middle of a street?" he growled, and grabbed my arm, practically throwing me into the car.

"Well at least you don't have to worry about seeing it," I automatically spat out, with a small chuckle. He didn't seem to find my comment the least bit entertaining. "Okay, I'm sorry for that it was stupid and childish. If you forgive me for that joke, I let you get a way with my baldness—just one."

"I have no interest in that right now, _Son_," he explained to me, stressing the word son, as though he might never be able to think of me as being his child again. "Considering your other transgressions, a 'joke' as you call it, isn't the issue we ought to be working on right now."

"If you're not interested in making jokes, then what are you interested in? Do you want me to suck your cock? Should I let you treat me like dirt, stick a gun in my face, threaten me?" I asked, sliding away from him, afraid of which one he might chose.

"All crudeness aside, I doubt a simple apology is going to be enough to fix this. Oh relax, Lex. I'm not going to shoot at you. There's a good possibility I might miss, and I could damage or destroy something important, something of actual value," he said, stroking his beard. In the following five minutes, seconds dragged on and on, as though time were molasses trickling out of a jar.

The longer I waited for him to laugh, put his arm around me, or just say something, the worse it seemed to get. Everything was so quiet I could actually hear my watch ticking all the way from my pocket, but there was at lest an hour between each tick. "What, suddenly you can make jokes but I can't?" It was only then, I realized I hadn't taken a breath the entire time I was waiting for him to speak to me. I hated my father, and at the same exact time I wanted to laugh hysterically. "Lex, it's your turn, come on, really let me have it." Throwing insults back and forth was the only way my father, and I knew how to really communicate. It might seem weird to the rest of the world, perhaps even cruel, but for us it was normal, it felt good.

"I'd be careful saying something like that if I were you, Dad. Weren't you the one who told me I had the biggest cock you'd ever seen?" "I highly doubt those were my exact words, Son, but we do have to consider the fact that I haven't seen nearly as many of those as you have." "At least I can see," I said, completely unable to come up with any more comebacks. I felt completely destroyed after the day's events. Dad grabbed me again, pulling my body towards his, kissing the top of my head. He was still laughing at me, although not as heartily as before. Then he leaned over me, whispering in my ear.

"We both know you can do better than _that_. Are you holding back because of what happened this afternoon? If so you are going to be extremely disappointed very soon. The only reason I entered this verbal sparing match was because it is the closest either one of us can come to apologizing."

"You're a perverted old man, who has fallen in love with a married woman who can't stand to be in the same room as you, not to mention the fact that you fucked me—your goddamn son—for the first time when I was still in elementary school."

"_That _is pathetic. You were nearly thirteen, and smarter than most adults by then," he shot back, the glow from the highway light-poles illuminating in his face in eerie white flashes. "And you'd been begging for it, since the first time I ever changed your diaper, you dirty little faggot."

I pretend not to be effected by his comment, as if it had simply rolled off my shoulders like the other ones, but my father had never called me that word before. He'd never said anything to suggest he thought of me as sick, disgusting, or ill. He had never hurt me by using my sexuality as cannon fodder.

"Please don't fuck Martha Kent," I suddenly blurted out, practically begging. Then I looked away, trying to pull as far apart from him as possible, but he had a death grip on my shoulders. "And please, Daddy—I mean Dad—don't ever leave me again. I need you. I need you so badly."

"Shush, easy there. Okay, just relax; take it easy. Are you all right, Lex? I'm sorry if I pushed you too far hurt you. I love you, Son. There we go, don't worry, I've got you. You just relax, and we'll figure out how to fix this the right way, you'll see."

"Why are you being nice to me all of the sudden? I mean you're never nice, not to me, not to anybody. You weren't even nice to Mom, and she was your wife." That was when he hit me—well not so much hit as slapped, but it was the first time in years, and this time I hadn't actually done anything, he just thought I had. "See, that is exactly the sort of thing I'm talking about," I sobbed, beginning to cry. Even then he pulled me closer. Dad put his lips, delicately, to the sport on my cheek were a faint, red impression of his fingers still remained, and kissed the, soon to be bruised, area.

"Lex, I don't know why I just did that to you. I _do_ know that I'll never make up for it, but I am sorry. I promise you, it will never happen again. Now there were a few things I wanted to discuss with you, some important decisions I wanted us to make together. Do you think you can do that for me, Kiddo?"

"If you can just swear you'll never, ever call me 'Kiddo' again, I'll do absolutely anything you ask of my for as long as I live," I said, which stupid not just because I'd promised lifelong obedience, but for the other reason as well.

"Lex, you are going to live a _lot_ longer than I will, and it terrifies me to hear my own son suggest the possibility that I might out live him! Don't you ever say something horrible like that again, you hear me? I don't know what to do with you sometimes." My father was yelling at me, and he had hit me, both within fifteen minutes of each other. I looked out the car window to try and gain some sort of an idea as to where we were, but all I could see was the moon, a spattering of stars, and cornfields.

"I hate living in Smallville. There are maybe two people who don't wish I was dead, and one who likes me even a tiny, little bit, but he's only fifteen-years-old."

"You want to have sex with Clark Kent? Well, I guess I can't say I'm all that surprised. I'm just amazed he hasn't noticed, considering the fact that he follows after you like a puppy-dog. Lex, the boy wants you just as badly as you want him, but you're both too scared to admit to it."

"I'd much rather be with you." I grabbed onto his body then, wrapping both my arms around his shoulders, burying my face in his chest. "God you smell good. How in the Hell do you manage that after a couple of lunatics, who were hired by your own kid no less, held you hostage and nearly killed you?" Dad responded by sniffing my neck, and chest.

"You don't smell too horrible either," he chuckled. "Although, knowing you, I'm guessing that you reapplied your antiperspirant three times since you woke up this morning."

"Four, but I took a shower after I smashed my office to bits, looking for these damn bugs you had planted. And if you're going to ask me to come back to Luthorcorp, I'll do it, but I get an office as big as yours, and I get to be your full partner," I told him, staring into his eyes, even though he couldn't tell the difference. "And I get to design my new office which ever way I like, no limits in any way, not even money wise." Dad nodded, kissing me again. "And you gotta promise me you're never, ever going to sleep with Maratha Kent, even if she begs you to.

"Didn't we just discuss this?"

"No. You avoided the conversation by holding me, and kissing me, and promising never to let me go. Then you hit me, apologized for it, and asked me to come and work with you at Luthorcorp. But you never said anything about Mrs. Kent."

"All right. If that's what you want to hear, I'll say it. However, it should be mentioned that you were the one who asked to be brought back to the company, not that I wasn't planning to do the same, you just jumped the gun a little. I love you Lex, and I will never sleep with Martha," he said flatly. I knew he meant the first part, but I couldn't tell about the second. And yet I knew better than to confront him about it.

"I don't believe you," I finally said, regretting it instantly, hating myself, hating him, and even hating her some. "I don't know if I can trust you with that woman. I think you're gonna hafta fire her."

"After today, I doubt that will be necessary, Son. At some point tomorrow I'll most receive her resignation letter, through the mail not in person of course, and then you and I will pack up our things and we'll go home. How does that sound, hmm?"

"It sounds like you're speaking to a five-year-old, which I am not. As weak as I am, as pathetic, and petty, and insecure I might be, and as much as you may hate me, I'm not five-years-old!"

"I don't—Lex are you looking at me, I want you look at me while I say this, okay, now listen to me very carefully. Lex, I do not hate you. You are not weak. You're sensitive, and we have both been through a long, difficult, stress-filled day, and I don't think it is the right time for us to be dissecting our relationship. You are my son, Lex, my wonderful, beautiful, amazing, brilliant, creative, sweet, and loveable son, and I _do_ love you. I do." And then my dad held me in his arms, rocking slowly back and forth, carefully kissing the top of my head every so often.

When we got back to Smallville, I used up every bit of my strengh helping Dad to his room, and the two of us held each other, crying and talking all night long, and while we had just barely scratched the surface of our problems, I was starting to feel good for the first time in years.

In the morning Dad held me in his arms, kissed my face, told me he loved me, and then he asked, "So are you coming back to Luthorcorp with me, or not?"


	2. Of Love and Almost Loss

Chapter two takes place at the end of Season Two Episode _Suspect_. This chapter is connected to the first one, not all of the others will be directly linked, and otherwise I'd have to go in order. What follows is how I believe things would have gone if Lex hadn't of walked out of his father's hospital room. Warning spoilers for _Suspect_, and let's not forget that this is Lex/Lionel slash.

You can spend your whole life workin' for something  
Just to have it taken away.  
People walk around pushing back their debts,  
Wearing paychecks like necklaces and bracelets,  
Talking 'bout nothing, not thinking 'bout death,  
Every little heartbeat, every little breath.  
People walk a tight rope on a razors edge  
Carrying their hurt and hatred and weapons.  
It could be a bomb or a bullet or a pen  
Or a thought or a word or a sentence," Brett Dennen

Chapter Two: Of Love and Loss

I sat in a char in my father's hospital room for hours, holding his hand in mine, slowly and gently rubbing it, squeezing it, etc. Then I looked around carefully, to make sure no one could see me, and I brought his hand up to my lips, kissing it as softly as possible. I watched his chest moving up and down. I just sat watching over him, loving him, promising to make everything work out this time.

Unfortunately, things don't always go as I plan. When my father woke up, and told me I was to blame for him getting shot, I wanted to run out of the room crying. I didn't do that though. Instead I stood there, looking down at him for the first time in my life. I found myself desperately wishing he could see the look of anger and strengh on my face, but I had to be satisfied with whatever was coming up.

"You didn't leave. That's a big step for you. I could have sworn you'd back out of the room, and run off someplace else to cry. I'm proud of you Lex. Now, it's been a long and, I'm fairly sure, difficult day. So if you feel like you need to cry, you go ahead and do that. But please close the curtain first, and make sure the door's shut all the way."

"How did you know the curtain was open? Could you see it?" I asked, hoping things might finally be getting better. I think I blamed myself for my father's blindness as much as he blamed himself for what happened to me on the day of the meteor shower, maybe more.

"Unfortunately not," he explained, speaking in short gasps. I realized he'd be doing that for at least a day or two. "I felt the heat from the sun coming through the glass on my face. Come closer, Lex, I want to be able to touch you. Do you remember our discussion a week ago, maybe two weeks? We agreed you were going to come back to work for me."

"Yeah, well you lied to me about that one, which makes me glad I waited. You said I was going to be your full partner, _father_, but I heard you talking to Dominic, and now I know you'll never do that. You were just going to keep on lying to me for the rest of my life or yours, and I wasn't about to let that happen anymore."

"Lex, I was lying to Dominic. I'll be firing him, soon—in fact if you want I might let you do it—and I'm dumping him. I was just trying to let the man down easy. Seems as if that plan backfired."

"You were sleeping with Dominic? What was that, just another way to piss me off? You know how poorly the two of us get along, that I HATE him, and yet you fucked that Limey bastard? You fucking creep, stay the—I can't believe ever I wanted anything to do with you. Do you really hate me so much that you'd sleep with my worst enemy, just to hurt me?"

"Funny, I thought I was your worst enemy. Please calm down, I'm on a lot of medication and I'm not nearly capable of dealing with you, if you start having a break down. Now listen to me very carefully. I know hospital beds are notorious for being even smaller than their patients, and I'm well aware of it, but would you come here and let me hold you while I explain this?"

Sometimes my father surprised me by hurting me even more than I ever thought possible, and other times I was the only person or thing on his mind, even when more important stuff was going on around us. I was so shocked by all of this, I actually started crying.

"Stay here with me, Lex. It will make us both feel a lot better. I did exactly as my father asked, lying in Dad's arms, letting him hold me, letting myself cry.

"You told me you weren't…you said I was 'just another employee.' Is that really how you think of me?" I sobbed. "I'm sorry. I'm stupid, pathetic, and weak, but you've always treated me decently. It was just so—I couldn't believe you would do that to me."

"Lex, son, listen to me. You can keep crying for as long as you need, but listen too. All right? I would have thought you knew me better than to believe the things I say in front of 'the help,' I wanted to be sure Dominic didn't realize I was leaving him for you, even when he learns I am leaving him."

"So you really were sleeping with that stupid, tea-swilling, backwards-driving, butt-kissing, SOB?" I asked, forcing myself to stop crying, which wasn't that hard when I really got angry.

"Just because I told you I haven't been with as many men as you have, doesn't mean you're the only one. Besides, it's not as if you have ever provided me with a list of your conquests. Why should I be expected to do the same?"

"He's not bigger than me is he? Or a better lover? Do you like the taste of his—do you like him better than me? What does he do that I—"

"Lex, that's enough," he said, cutting me off. "Do you think about those disposable playthings of yours for more than a minute after you've finished with them? It's the same with Dominic."

"Except that he's been with the company since I was—since before you exiled me to Smallville." My father chuckled softly, rubbing my back after I said this.

"It is true. Dominic and I worked very closely for a long time, but he doesn't mean anything to me. You are my son, and you will always come first. I know I haven't always treated you this way, but—Lex, I told you it was fine if you cried, and certainly you need it after the day you've had," he said, holding me as I cried, and then patting my back and bottom with baby soft touches, which made me feel a lot better and I began to stop.

It wasn't until I lifted my head that I noticed the front of his hospital gown was soaked all the way through with my tears and snot. "I believe there is an extra one of these in the bathroom. Do you think you can get it for me?"

"What did you do to me?" I asked when I got back, suddenly wondering how he had fixed me, wondering who had shown it to him. I stood at the side of his bed, refusing to get back in 'till I knew. "Before, when I was—indisposed—it was strange, but it also felt good. Was that a trick you learned from your little lap dog? And you never answered my question, who's bigger him or me?"

"You, and don't ask me if I'm just saying that. You know perfectly well I have never said anything, just to make you happy. Now listen, I've had enough with this pettiness over my relationship with Dominic. I love _you_, not him, and I learned that trick from your mother. The first time she asked me to take care of you when you woke up in the middle of the night you were just crying. I had no idea what I was doing. I tried to hold you, dance with you, everything, but eventually she had to come and help me. She said it calmed you down."

After that I sat in the chair I'd spent most of the afternoon in, rather than laying back in the bed with him. "You're pouting, Lex—and you have no reason to. Come back here. Even if you're feeling better, come here. I want you close by." I did, and for a long time we just laid there. When Dad was released from the hospital, he agreed to let me come back to work with him as his full partner.


	3. The Back Seat of My Car

Alternate Ending to the Episode _Jitters_ spoilers for season one up to the end of the episode. This chapter is in no way related to the first two. Also warning for a graphic sex scene between Lex and Lionel.

"Speed along the highway,  
Honey, I want it my way.  
But listen to her daddy's song,  
don't stay out too long.  
Oo, we're just busy hiding,  
Sitting in the back seat of my car," Paul McCartney 

"Do you even care about what almost happened to me today, what I've been through, or is this whole thing just a big show for the TV cameras?" I whispered in my father's ear as the news crews loaded up their vans, and began to drive away. Dad pushed me away.

"I should mention how remarkably stupid it was for you to walk into the building, offering yourself up as a hostage. If you had let the professionals do their job, you would have been perfectly fine."

"I saved the lives of at least twenty people, kids, when I did that!" All around us the parking lot seemed empty. Everyone was either gone, or in the cars, so I didn't need to worry about them hearing us anymore.

"And if you had been killed, it would have made you a hero…of course they would have forgotten about you by the end of a month." Dad started to walk away from me, but I was far too weak and afraid to just let him go.

"Dad, hang on," I called out, running after him, the sound of my shoes slapping against the pavement and the beating of my heart, pounding in my ears, were the only sounds in the dark, empty parking lot. When I made it to his side, I reached for my father's hand.

"Lex, whatever this is, can it wait for tomorrow, and if not do be quick. I have an important meeting at 9:00, and a three hour car ride to look forward to before I get home, thanks to you."

"So this is my fault? Weren't you the one conducting those experiments with—I don't even know what you were doing, but how is it my fault the world found out you broke the law?"

"Would you shut up! God knows how many reporters might still be sniffing around. You may come back to Metropolis with me, but I would prefer not to talk about business tonight, if you think you can handle it."

"Well, seeing as business, for me, is all about reprocessing crap, I can't really imagine a situation in which I would want to talk about it," I told him, sliding all the way to the very end of the back bench. I thought briefly about sitting across from him, on the other bench, but I knew he would only ignore me if I did that.

I was so far away from my father when the car first started to move that even our shoes weren't touching. "Just one thing about today. Please let me say this, and then we can go have silent angry sex, and you can start ignoring me again as soon as we're finished."

"You don't actually expect me to fall for this pathetic attempt to gain my sympathy, do you, Lex? I will not hug and kiss you, and promise you everything is always going to be okay."

"Actually the more I think about it, the more I realize you're right, Dad. The world would be a much better place if kids didn't go running to their parents asking for help every time they come within inches of getting blown up, while being held hostage."

"Well, if you still want to work with me at Luthorcorp, you're going to need to deal with the occasional maniac wanting either one, or both, of us dead."

"All the ones I can remember from when I was growing up, never actually tried to kill you, although I do remember one threatening to do so, just not to your face. Of course, you usually beefed up security and caught the guy before it became an issue.

"Those particular lunatics always gave plenty of warning," Dad explained, scooting a little closer, and touching my hand. "Lex tell me you aren't going to do anything idiotic like that again." Then he picked up my hand, turning over in his. "I would hate to lose you son. I could fire anyone else and never miss them, but you are—well it's not as if I can just order another son through a catalogue."

"Thank god for small favors," I muttered under my breath. "Was that your way of telling me I actually mean something to you?" I asked, jerking away as the finger on his other hand brushed up against the giant welt on my head. Luckily I managed to bite down on my lip hard enough to keep from screaming in pain.

"You are, indispensable, as an employee…and as my child." My father's voice rarely gave a hint as to whether he was telling the truth or lying, or if he meant was he was saying, be it the truth or a lie. In the back of the car that night he spoke as if he were reading from a travel itinerary.

"Which completely explains why I got exiled to Siberia," I said as my father pulled my wrist up to his lips, kissing it roughly. Then he hit the button to mute the microphone between the driver and us, "There any cameras in this thing?"

"You think I'm going to let someone make a recording of me having sex with my son? You're an adult now, which means I wouldn't go to prison, but since you would be the only person working for me anymore, I'd have to let you come back to Metropolis or sell the company."

"So to sum things up, no? You know I'm pretty sure Clark's parents aren't yelling at him, and he came back to save _me,_ after _I_ got Earl to let him, and the other kids go. Could you at the very least acknowledge the fact that what I did was noble?"

"Even if your intentions were noble, it doesn't mean you acted intelligently. The only reason your life was ever in danger, is because you walked right up to a lunatic, and said, 'take me as a hostage.'"

"What do you think would have happened if I had let him kill a group of completely innocent kids?"

"We'd have gotten maybe a week of bad press, and then everyone would have forgotten. Other than that we wouldn't have a too many losses. I might have to sell the plant in Smallville, but that would be the worst case scenario."

"Twenty kids could have died. You can't honestly tell me you feel nothing for them, can you?"

"More than a hundred and fifty thousand people die every day, Lex. Am I supposed to send them all condolence cards? Or maybe just all of the people who have had connect, with all of the people, with whom I have ever had contact?"

"You have no responsibility to keep _those_ people safe. A couple of kids on a fieldtrip, in a factory you own, get killed by your former employee, and that doesn't make you feel something?"

"You were the one managing that plant, Son. Making sure security is doing their part goes with the job. Are you planning to apologize to everyone who got hurt when you come back? "

"They don't blame me. I went in there—and—but you said, you told me to come with you to Metropolis. You basically ordered me to get into the limo with you. Why are you sending me back?"

"You've had a long day, and I thought you needed to spend some time relaxing. You can come home for the day. If you wish to stay for the weekend, I might be able to fit you in, just as long as you let this go. I will not spend the next three days arguing with you. So which do you prefer," he asked, dropping my hand and scooting away from me, "to win an argument, or to have a nice, relaxing weekend where you get to sleep in your old bed?" As he said this, he inched closer, forgoing the handholding and then kissed me hard, roughly pushing my body down on the seat.

"Wait," I cried, breaking away. I hadn't seen my father in months, and he was being…well not kind, but he wasn't barking commands at me either. Dad removed his hands from my chest immediately, and sat back in his seat. "I didn't say stop. I just—I wanted, say—tell me you love me?"

"Lex, we've been over this before. You know what my feelings are, and there is no need for me to continually remind you how it is I feel."

"But I don't know. You sent me to this shit-hole, literally, you never call, you never let me come home, for more than a few days, and the only time you ever show me any affection is when we—when you are fucking me. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?"

"Alright, but I am not going to tell you right this minute, or you'll whine, and sob, and ask me over and over for hours whether I meant it or not, and I will not put up with that, got it?" I nodded, as he pushed me back down on the bench. After our conversation he seemed to be gentle, with his hands, and with his kisses. When he removed my clothing, he moved slow, kissing the spots on my chest under each shirt button.

Then he rolled me over onto my stomach, pressing his body up against me. I could feel his cock against my bare ass. My palms were sweaty, so they kept sliding all over the leather. Finally I had to dig my fingers into the seat, to stay in place.

I turned my head turned around to look at my dad, as two wet fingers slipped into my rectum. His fingers continued to pull and stretch, as he placed his right hand on my hip, and used the other to slowly guide his cock inside of me. Then, the same hand wrapped around my spasming cock, as he pumped into me.

"Dad," I called out, just before I started to cum. Shortly after that, I managed to catch my breath again, and smiled, looking back over my shoulder at him. "Thank you," I whispered, moaning. He seemed to be able hit all the right spots, and I loved him for it. Even when he finished, it felt good. Then he collapsed on top of me, and the two of us spooned against the backseat.

"Lex," my father asked softly, kissing all over my neck, his right hand running up and down my chest, as he held me close with the left. I looked around the limo, unable to stop smiling.

"Yeah?" I asked, closing my eyes, attempting to take everything in. Dad pressed his face up against the back of my neck. I felt his lips turn up into a smile. Then he kissed me, not on the neck, or the cheek, or the top of my head. Instead he leaned up, lifting his head above mine, and then he bent down and gave me a real, long, passionate, loving kiss.

"I love you, Son," he whispered, lying down with me once again. "That was a lot better than if I had just said it when you asked, isn't it, Lex?" he asked, and I nodded, still smiling.


	4. Wise Up

Not connected to any of the other pieces. Alternate ending to Lexmas.

"You're sure  
There's a cure  
And you have finally found it  
You think  
One drink  
Will shrink you 'til you're underground  
And living down  
But it's not going to stop  
It's not going to stop  
It's not going to stop  
'Til you wise up," Aimee Mann

The more I thought about what I had been through, the more I started to realize just how true what Dad said to me was. He had asked me if I would have made the same choice, I given the opportunity. At first I said no, absolutely not, never. Being alive is more important than the ability to walk, and my father had no way of knowing whether they could have fixed the problem, in a few days, when things were less precarious.

After he left my room, though, I thought about the decision he made, the outcome, his question, and slowly it started to sink in, dad was right. So I pushed the button to call the nurse. Glancing up at the clock I saw that it was nearly 1:15 am, so I completely understood the angry look on her face.

"I'm sorry to bother you Ms.," I lied, using as much charm as I could, and she seemed to buy it. "I was just wondering if my father had left for the night." The nurse told me Dad was sitting in the waiting room. "I know it's against the rules, and after visiting hours, but if you could bring him in here, it would help a lot. Then I wouldn't need to bother you for every little thing. So do you think you can get him?" I asked, flashing a smile. The woman nodded, and Dad appeared less than a minute later.

"Lex?" my father asked, upon entering the room. "Is everything all right?" He raced over to my side, gently placing a hand on my head, as though he were almost afraid to touch me, for fear of causing me pain. "You should get some sleep, Son," my father explained, moving a chair from the corner of the room to just across from my bed. "I'll stay here if you want, and you should relax."

I couldn't be completely sure of what it was I saw, between the darkness of the room itself, and the haziness of being on morphine, but as my father began to sit down, I could have sworn there were tears on his face.

"Dad, I just wanted to say to you how—I'm sorry, for getting angry earlier. I should have admitted it when you asked, I would have made the same choice, if I could have, and I wanted you to be the first to know, I'm dropping out of the senate race."

"I think that's a good idea, but I shouldn't have been so reckless with your life. You're my son, and I care for you, no matter what you can or can't do."

"I think I only got mad because the whole thing was such a shock."

"All right then," he said as he leaned over me, kissing the top of my head. "Just try and get some sleep. I'll see what I can do about getting you released, so you will be able to recuperate at home."

My father pushed his chair right up next to me then, and slowly ran his fingers along the side of my face. "Lex," he paused breathing heavily, and lowering his voice, to cover up his need to cry by forcing himself into anger. "Lex, why were you—what were you even thinking?"

"I was just doing what you taught me; win at any cost," I reminded him, intertwining the fingers on my right hand with the ones he had resting on that shoulder. "It's too bad you can't come over here, and just hold me."

"Lex, I'm not certain I, perhaps we should wait until you are feeling better before we start to…"

"Dad, I need you to hold me. That was my attempt at trying to be coy. It's okay, I'm not going to tell anybody if you cry in front of me—not that anyone would believe it anyway."

"Lex, I'm not going to—okay, I—if that is what you want I'll hold you." Maneuvering around to get us into the hospital bed together was difficult, mostly because every time I moved my shoulder, or his hand so much as brushed up against it, a hot searching ache ran through my chest. It felt as if someone had run me through with a hot poker. When we finally managed to get into a comfortable position, I looked up at my father and smiled.

"How much did it cost you to get the nurse to agree to stay out of my room all night?" I asked, closing my eyes for a moment, and then opening them again, desperately trying to stay awake, a little longer, just incase that too was a hallucination.

"Lex, I am appalled that you think I would ever bribe someone. You know me better than to even suggest such a thing." Then he kissed me on the side of my head. "Go to sleep, Son. I am not going to leave you. "Even if you go to sleep, I'll still be here in the morning," he promised, pressing his furry face against the top of my head.

I lay still for a very long time, pretending to be sleeping, because I knew Dad would never cry in front of me, and I—well I wanted to see it. After about an hour passed, I felt his body loosen up. His breath became shallow and (I think) he clenched his jaw to keep from making noise. Tears slid down his face, landing on my scalp, and occasionally they slipped down my cheeks as well.

Time passed, and soon I heard his breathing return to normal, as his hand left my chest and reached out to grab a tissue. I heard my father blowing his nose, felt him wiping my face, as well as his own. "Lex," he said when he was finished, leaning in close, his lips pressing right against my ears, whispering softly. "You need to go to sleep now, okay?" I nodded. "I love you, Lex. Please don't ever scare me like that again. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, Son."

"I'm sorry, Dad. I was just, all I wanted was for you to—I wanted to be—I wanted power, and control. I won't do it again, I swear. I love you too," I said, closing my eyes again, and laying my head against his chest. Soon I was asleep, and when I woke up, my father was still holding me. I was released from the hospital two days later, and ever since then my dad and I have been closer than ever.


	5. Clean

There are no connections between this chapter and any of the others. In this story, Lex _is _still working at Luthorcorp with Lionel, and because it is an alternate universe I can make people as nice or as mean as I like. This is how I think the season two episode _Linage _should have ended.

"You are going to find a reason to hate me someday  
You are going to find a reason to push me away  
You are going to find reasons to blame me for your pain  
I hope you never lose the magic that is big inside of you  
I hope you never do the ridiculous things that I used to do  
I hope you never know my disease  
Never being good enough  
I don't want you to be like me  
I want you to be clean," Art Alexakis

When I got home that night, I tried and I tried to talk to my father, but he wouldn't say a word to me. Of course I blamed him for his stupid mistakes, the affair, the baby, the deranged ex, and for what happened to Clark and his family, what happened to me, everything. When my father told me it had been a long day, and kicked me out of the room, I only pretended to leave. I stood in the doorway and watched as he took out his pocket watch, opened it, took something out, and held it between his fingers.

Slowly, I made my way across the room, being careful to avoid all of the floorboards that creaked. When I finally got close enough, I was able to see what he was holding, a lock of hair, and not just anyone's hair. Of course I couldn't be sure, without his telling me or DNA analysis, but I knew it had once belonged to my mother, nonetheless. I watched my father's display of loving sentimentality in silent awe…at least I was silent, until I saw the picture he had in his watch.

It was an old photograph. Dad's hair was shorter, darker and, as hard as it was to believe, thicker. My father was smiling at whomever was holding the camera, most likely my mother, and he had his arm around this kid, this smiling happy kid. It only took an instant to realize that the kid in the picture with my father was me. Based on my size and haircut, I figured the picture was taken around the time I was four-years-old, and I was with my father, and both of us were smiling. When everything hit me, I must have gasped.

"Lex, I asked you to leave, I thought I was being perfectly clear about that. If you think standing there crying is going to make me pity you, then you are sadly mistaken, Son," he informed me, replacing the hair and putting the watch away.

"If you're not gonna go straight up to bed, I'd like to talk," I said, sitting back in the chair across from him. Dad sighed loudly, making it clear exactly how much I was annoying him, but I didn't care. "Not about today, I just—that's a nice watch you had out. I especially liked the photograph. Those people looked so happy. I wonder whatever happened to them.

"How the am I supposed to know that? The picture came with the watch. I don't know who they are, but if I had to guess I'd say a couple of unrelated models."

"Really? Because I think the father's not exactly what most people look for in models. I mean sure he's a bit rugged, but he's not all that handsome." I watched as the corners of my father's mother turned downward. "And the hair? You expect me to believe _that_ came with the watch too?"

"I wasn't a perfect father to you Lex, but I did a better job than I get credit for. You should know, that picture was taken at that old ranch you and your mother used to love so much," he said, and handed me the watch. "Be careful with that, Son."

"Funny, I never remember you being there. Besides manual labor doesn't really sound like your idea of a good time, _father_."

"You were barely four-years-old the first time we went up there. Shoveling out stalls wasn't your idea of a good time at that age, not that you'd have been able to do it even if you wanted to. The first few years, your mother and I would ride around the ranch, and one of us would hold you in the saddle with us. Then we all did the cattle drive together."

"How do I know you're telling me the truth?" I've pretty much always been naturally suspicious of just about everything my father says, and who can blame me, after all of the bullshit he's tried to feed me.

"Well there's the photograph proof that I once held you in my arms, and that we were both happy at the moment. So why on Earth would I tell you I went some place I hadn't? Wouldn't it be more convenient to tell you it was taken in my office?"

"You're trying to prove that you were a good father at one point. Taking part in activities your children enjoy even if you hate them is part of good parenting. You know how much that ranch meant to me, and that it would make me like you more if I thought you'd been there, it would give us something to bond over."

"Well if you don't believe me, I have a few videos in a box in my room, home movies, actually. Your mother had this video camera, and when you were a little boy, she made a lot of movies of us together, all three of us." I stared at my father in shock, and I think my jaw might have dropped.

"Would you be willing to sit with me, while I watch them or has it been too 'long' of a day for you?" I asked. What he said next was the exact opposite of what I had been expecting.

"I'd like that a lot, Son," he told me, as he stood up, and started out of the room. His adaptation to being blind amazed me. I thought it almost unfair that he could cope with it after just a few months, whereas I was still uncomfortable with the baldness after more than ten years. Then he turned around and smiled at me. "And if you spill something on the floor you are going to have to clean it up. This is our house, not a theater."

"Hey Dad, maybe you should bring the whole box down. It could be…embarrassing if you accidentally brought down a video of you and Mom…sharing a private moment," I snapped quickly.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he chuckled. "Sorry, Lex; no such tapes exist." My father was only gone for a couple of minutes, but he did bring the whole box down, a total of six tapes.

"How long are these things, 'cuz I've got work in the morning, and somehow I don't think my boss will let me get away with the old, 'sorry, I was up late watching home movies,' excuse, if I fall asleep during the board meeting."

"I want you to take the week off, Lex. You've had a rough few days, and I think you and I should spend some time together, just the two of us."

"So you being a half way decent human being and letting me stay home to recover, I can sort of understand, but are you actually going to spend any of your time with _me_? And if so, are you going to force me to hang out in your office or are you staying home?

"Lex, it's my company, I'm allowed to take a few days off to be with my son, especially after something like this happens," he told me, and then wrapped his arms around me as we lay down on the couch together. He switched the TV on, and felt around for a moment, and started the video. "I believe we made this one when you were five, maybe a little younger."

// XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Home Movies XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX //

The video started off with the younger me talking to my mother, who was holding the camera, as I was (apparently) in the middle of telling her some sort of a story.

"And then the rabbit hopped all the way home and shared the carrots with his whole family," the five-year-old said, as sly little smile on his/my face. Then my mother started to giggle.

"Did you make that all by yourself, or did Daddy help you with it?" The little boy on the screen looked almost insulted by such a suggestion. "I'm sorry, Alexander. Sometimes you're just so smart, Mommy has a hard time believing it."

"Your mother's not the only one who has trouble believing how amazing you are," a deeper, familiar voice announced from off camera, then two arms reached across the screen, picking the little me up. The camera zoomed out, just in time to see my father lifting me up onto his shoulders. Then my mother began talking again, and she must have put the camera on a tripod, because she entered the frame, and put her arms around me, holding me in place, so I wouldn't fall. It wasn't that my father wasn't holding me carefully, but she seemed over-protective of me. Based on what I can remember about my childhood health problems, I didn't blame her.

"Lionel, you know how much it worries me when you do that with him. Alexander, come to mommy," she order, but I held on tighter to my father's arms.

"Are you two having a fight again?" the little me asked.

"No, of course not, Kiddo. Your mother's just concerned that you might fall, and neither one of us could stand to see you get hurt even if it was only a tiny, little bit," my father explained.

"Don't worry, mommy. Dad wouldn't never drop me. He loves me too much. Maybe he could give me a horsy back ride instead though. Is that okay, Momma?" The little boy allowed his mother to pull him into her arms, and she laid me down on the couch, tickling me. Then my father came back on Camera, and started kissing her.

"Ew, gross!" the little me said on the screen and then he ran to turn the video camera off. The next scene was of the three of us on a beach, presumably the one in front of the beach house. The scene after that we were at some sort of carnival, and the rest of the video took place in the house I grew up in, in Metropolis.

// XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Home Movies XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX //

"Why don't I remember any of that stuff?" I asked my father as we were heading upstairs for the night. "I mean if we had all of those happy times, why would my mind block it out."

"I don't think you blocked it out, Lex, but you were so little…I only remember a handful of moments from my childhood. It's something that happens when people grow up." When we got to the top of the staircase he started off towards his room, as I, stared at my father longingly.

"Dad, what happened to us? We were so happy in those movies. You really seemed to love me."

"I still love you. That's never—I have always loved you," my father interrupted, as he walked to my side, ad reached out grabbing my shoulders.

"Then what did I do wrong? How did I screw that up badly enough to make you go from who you were in the movie, to…" I couldn't finish.

"Lex, don't do this," Dad begged, pulling me into a hug. "Please."

"No! I need to know. What happened to us? What changed that was so awful you couldn't be a real father anymore? Why did you…why aren't we—I, Dad, why did you, don't make me finish this sentence."

"Your mother died, and I didn't know how to—Lex you have to understand that I loved you with all my heart, I always have, always will, but I never knew what a good father was supposed to be like. I was terrified of doing the wrong thing, and hurting you. When your mother was alive, I could follow her lead, but then she got sick, and you got older…I didn't know what you wanted. I tried everything I could think of, but by that point, you were so angry with me, and you seemed so much happier on your own. I thought the best thing would be to give you the space you seemed to want…but I _never_ stopped loving you, never."

"I was a little boy—and—my mother had just died. You were the only person I had left in my life and you thought—I'd be better off with nothing? How could possibly think you did the right thing?"

"I don't. I know I screwed up, and I am sorry for that. I made a lot of mistakes raising you, and you can continue to hold those things against me, or you can try to forgive me, and the two of us can start working on our relationship," my father explained, touching my face in an awkward, almost loving gesture. Then he hugged me again, and walked down the hall towards his room, without waiting to hear what I had to say. When he got there, he turned around, feeling for something, and finally turned back towards the stairs. "Are you coming or not?" he asked, and I did.


	6. When Will I Be Loved

No connection to the other pieces. Alternate ending for Smallville episode _Reaper_, season one.

"I've been cheated  
Been mistreated  
When will I be loved?  
I've been pushed down  
I've been pushed 'round  
When will I be loved?  
When I find a new man  
That I want for mine  
He always breaks my heart into  
It happens every time," Linda Ronstadt

When Dad closed the trunk and walked away laughing, I thought things were going to end right there. He'd invited me up to the penthouse, but it was only a formality. Even when he said, "well done, Lex." I knew he didn't mean it. I hated my father, I mean I hate my father, I always have, always will, but as much as I hate him, I hate fighting with him even more.

We hadn't seen each other in over a month, and he didn't so much as hug me, or shake my hand. Being lied to, spied on, cheated on, stolen from—my father had hurt me in every way imagine able, and yet I found myself racing to his side all the same. We didn't make eye contact. I didn't say a word, but running after my father, grabbing him by the arm, like I did, in his world, that was tantamount to getting on my knees and begging or crying, and if I had done either of those things…god he probably would have disinherited me.

I knew how pathetic I must have looked to him right then, but I didn't care. I needed him, and he needed to know it. "What happened to that new found independence of yours?" Lionel asked, pinching my chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"You invited me up to the penthouse," I reminded him, pushing his hand away, even thought I was desperate for any physical contact with him. I was trying to remain calm and collected, but every second that passed felt like an eternity. I was sweating, and I felt as if it were freezing outside.

"All right, Lex, that's enough. You look pathetic. You couldn't pull off nonchalance with a bottle of Xanax in your system," he told me, with an almost loving pat on the shoulder. "If you want to come up. All you have to do is tell me."

"You're a rotten, mean bastard and I hate your fucking guts!" I shouted, no longer caring who heard me. Dad's smile faded as he lowered his eyes at me. "You know I could say something a lot more damaging and out here, in the open, who knows who might hear me?"

"Inside now," my father ordered, grabbing me by the collar and dragging me into the elevator. "You stupid, pathetic, little brat." Dad shouted, slamming me up against the wall. "I'd spank you, but I think you'd enjoy it rather than learning something."

"You might wanna hold off on those type of threats, and the pummeling session, until we're actually in your office. That is, unless you want Earl the security guard selling the video to the 6:00 news," I whispered. "And I am anything but little." Dad chuckled, letting go of me, and I dusted myself off.

"Really? When did that happen?" he asked, as we entered his office. "I'm positive I've never heard of anyone having a permanent growth spurt of that type, at least not at your age." Dad looked down at me, pushing his bottom lip out, mocking my pouty face.

"I'm bigger than you are!"

"You only believe that about yourself, because you have—because of your…condition." I thought it was interesting how, even now, my father couldn't bring himself to talk about the hair thing, like he blamed himself.

"Well if you're right, break out the shaving cream and we can see for sure." I flashed a smile.

"Fine, Lex, you win—not because I believe you—I'm just not going to let you anywhere near me with a razor."

"What's the matter, Daddy? Don't you trust me?"

"Oh, Lex—Lex, Lex, Lex. You shouldn't have done that," he told me, pulling his arms around me gently. "Now I'm not going to be able to look at you naked—let alone touch you—for at least a month—not without feeling like…" Then he shook his head, and held me, rocking the two of us back and forth.

"I thought we were passed this. I'm not 12-years-old anymore. I'm not even seventeen. I'm old enough to rent a car, drink, smoke, drive, run a factory."

"And every time I look at you, I see that sweet, innocent little boy. You're still—the same baby boy I used to carry around singing to—Lex you're my son…I changed your diapers. This isn't easy for me."

"You never changed a diaper in your life, and I'm not innocent. And don't worry about the bald thing, it's fine—and as far as you go, you're not some creepy guy who came into my room at night and hurt me—I came to you, we were both in a lot of pain—"

"Lex, shut up," he ordered, cutting me off. "You can tell me how much you wanted it, still want it, and try to remind me of your age until you're blue in the face, but it doesn't change anything. You're my son, and it will always be difficult for me. So from time to time, please let me panic about what I've done to you, what I'm doing."

"I'm okay, Dad—and believe it or not, I don't hate you. I don't think you're mean, and I only called you a bastard because—well we were fighting—and I was losing. That's all."

"Shh," he whispered. He had stopped rocking by this point, but he was still holding me in what I usually refer to as his 'Daddy hug.' "I love my baby boy. I love you. I love you."

"Now when you say you won't be able to do anything for a month, how long is that exactly? 'Cuz here's the thing, there aren't exactly a lot of places for guys like me to find—well anything—in Smallville. And you know how I feel about that other thing."

"You have to be the only man on the planet who doesn't—not that I go around asking about it…that's really more of your specialty isn't it son?" Dad laughed, and let me go for a minute so he could look at me. "Stay with me tonight. Tomorrow's Saturday, we can spend the day together, doing some of that father-son bonding you keep bugging me about, and we'll see how we're doing on Sunday."

"And if I have plans? Then what?" I asked. "What, I can't have plans for this weekend?"

"You have plans in Smallville? What exactly are you doing, Son, shucking corn?" he asked with a chuckle.

"I have a plan to meet someone. Clark Kent and I are going to play pool…he's the kid who pulled me out of the river."

"I know the Kents, Lex—you do know he's only fourteen-years-old, be careful with that…I'd hate to lose my factory because _you_ can't control yourself around a cute teenager."

"We're just friends."

"Then tell your _friend_ that you need to come up here, to be with me for the weekend, that is if you think you can spend the weekend in Metropolis without needing to find a complete stranger, in a bar with whom you'll feel the need to—"

"Okay, I'll stay, that is assuming _you_ can spend two days with me and not completely destroy my self esteem, turning me into a quivering mess."

"I thought you wanted that."

"Can you be nice to me for five minutes? Or are you biologically incapable of being a halfway decent father?" I asked, sitting on his desk as provocatively as possible, even spreading my legs a little.

"I was holding you, less than a minute ago, telling you how much I love you, whispering in your ear. Now, are you planning to sit around my office all night arguing, or are you coming home with me?" he asked, and what could I do, except go?


	7. Hot Time in the Small Town Tonight

Alternate ending to the episode _Hothead_ from season one. Takes place after the first scene between Lex and Lionel. Warning, spoilers for _Hothead _and Lex/Lionel slash relationship.

"And I don't know how a man decides  
What's right for his own life  
It's all a mystery  
'Cause I'm a man, not a boy  
And there are things you can't avoid  
You have to face them  
When you're not prepared to face them," The Flaming Lips

"Dad?" I tried to make my voice sound calm, but stern, and angry, which was especially difficult, considering what had just happened. An outsider would only see that my father had beaten me in a fencing duel, but in reality it was a terrifying ordeal. I tried to remember whether the sword pressed right up against my collarbone had a tip on it or not, but couldn't.

Dad continued to push it down, hard, and it hurt. I knew my father wanted a son, and more importantly he needed a son, but I also knew how angry he was, how much he hated me. There was maybe a minute left before all of my muscles, or the ones I was straining so hard to keep tense at least, would burst open. In sixty seconds, or less, I would (in order from the ones my father would find least offensive to the most) wet my pants, cry, and beg him to stop. He said nothing, just stared down into my eyes.

"Pathetic," he muttered, pressing harder against my neck. He clucked his tongue, and finally I felt the end of the foil pierce my skin, creating a tiny puncture mark, a nick really. It was sort of injury one could claim to have obtained while shaving…if they shaved.

I felt the tears welling up behind my eyes. I tried to hold it all in, but in the end the pain caused me to emit a single sound, a weak, pathetic, childish whimper.

"Daddy," I pleaded, and wanted him to finish me off more than I wanted to be let free. He grunted, lowered his sword, and handed me mine.

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" Then my father shook his head, and took a few steps back, standing in the middle of the room. " Now is not the time to beg for mercy—or another frenzied, poorly planned attack. Show me your strengh. Prove me wrong. You have no idea how much I'd even enjoy it."

Then he stood there, dropped his foil, and held his arms open—increasing the target area. I felt a flash of white-hot anger, as I charged at him empty-handed. I reached out to pound my fists against his chest. Of course, I was too pissed off to put up a decent fight. Dad grabbed my arm, twisted it behind my back, and forced me to the ground.

"You fucking bastard," I grunted, as I tried to wiggle out from under him. "I hate you!" I shouted. Dad clamped his hand over my nose and mouth, leaning down over me, and whispering in my ear."

"I know you're angry, Lex, but you may not have noticed how well sound travels in this building. You scream again, and every person in the house will come running," he said, pushing my arm closer to my back.

"And I know you hate me, but if you don't let go of my arm," I panted, "it's going to break." Dad dropped my hand, immediately, taking several steps backwards, as if he were horrified by his actions, but I was too self-absorbed in my own pain to notice. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

"It's all right," he whispered so quietly I was positive I had imagined the words, until he repeated them. "It's alright." Then he took three or four more steps back, the same stunned look on his face.

"Lionel wait!" I called out to him, but remained seated. I wanted what little dignity I still had—_wait a second_, I thought. I'd just called my father by his first name, for maybe the second time in my life.

The first time was when I was two. Dad went on a business trip to London, and he was gone for almost a month. When he came back, my mother threw her arms around him, kissed his face, and said something like, "oh Lionel." Two-year-old Lex followed by doing the exact same thing, thinking it was the correct response.

My parents thought this was hysterical, and they continued to tell me, about it, over and over, which was the only reason I still remember it. "Okay, I guess it wasn't nearly as cute as the last time," I told him with a chuckle, hoping to clear the air.

"Come here." My father reached out to me, his arms wide open so he could hug me. I didn't do what Dad said, for a lot of reasons.

I was—to be perfectly honest—a little scared of what might happen to me, what he might do.

I was still mad at him about the other thing, the work thing. I didn't appreciate him coming in and pushing me around like that, even if he was my boss.

As much as I wanted to be with my father again, I needed to know he respected me, loved me.

"You want me to go," he murmured. I knew exactly what Dad was trying to do. He wanted me to fold, give in, run to him, beg for it. _Please, Daddy. I need you. Please, please. _

"Do whatever you want," I said, turning away. It may have looked strong, brave, but in reality, I couldn't look at him, because I was about thirty seconds away from crying again. I didn't hear him walk across the room this time, but he did, and then put his arm over my shoulder. When he leaned in to kiss me, I said something like, "I'm still pissed at you." Dad only chuckled, pulling me into another kiss.

"I'm glad to hear that." His words were partially disrupted by our kissing, but I had to push him back so that I could make sure I heard the rest of what he had to say. My father took out a handkerchief, and used it to wipe his lips. "When you were a little boy—even well you know how long you've had this little problem." I wanted him to believe I had changed, so I tried to bite my lip, to keep from crying. "At least you're not begging me to stay," he explained kissing me again. "It's okay. You might as well let it out, I already know you're about to cry." I shook my head. "You wanna go upstairs?" he asked, gently running his hands up and down my back.

"Yeah, okay," I blurted out, quickly, letting him take my heads, and I led him to my bedroom. I sat on the bed, watching him, but Dad went looking around the rest of the room. "If you're searching for my stash, it's under the mattress…porn only though."

"Your tastes are interesting. I just wanted to see what you did with your newest room. I'm still trying to get those posters off the wall back home."

"Please." I took my shirt off, and tried to get a look at the tiny, blood red puncture mark on my neck. "You probably had them plastered over the day after I left. Or torn down."

"I wouldn't do something like that to you," he explained, sitting next to me, leaning over and kissing my neck softly. "I do care about you, Lex, and I occasionally do worry about you too. You're my Son, all I ever wanted was to make you happy."

"You don't care, and you defiantly don't want me happy. I crashed my car the day I got here, drove it right off a bridge. I almost died, and some local kid had to fish me out. You know that, you must have known that."

"Lex, I understand. You're upset with me," he started to explain, "but I called you that very same night. We talked for three hours." He probably would have said more, but I interrupted him.

"That's my whole fucking point! I almost died, and you couldn't be bothered to come and see me in person! You didn't hug me, or hold me, or even just pat me on the shoulder. I know I'm being stupid and petty, and I shouldn't care, but sometimes—you sent me away and I thought—never mind."

"I think it would be better if you did mind. It's all right Lex. You can tell me, if something is bothering you. Maybe I could even help you."

"I thought you didn't love me anymore," I told him, and then I actually did start to cry. Dad wrapped his arms around me, pulling my head to his chest, patting me on the back, massaging my shoulders.

"Lex, I just told you!" my father got angry first, but then he started to calm down because he couldn't tell how sad, and scared, and lonely I was. "It's okay, son. Don't stop crying until you're ready. Oh—okay. There we go." He kissed the top of my head, and my cheeks, softly. "You're a lot stronger than I gave you credit for, Lex, and I'm sorry I called you pathetic. You're _not_ you hear me?" Dad had his shirt, tie, and belt off by this point, and was working on his pants.

He kissed me over and over, the whole time he made love to me, telling me how proud he was, what a good boy, he said. He told me I was strong, and brave, and sweet, and wonderful I was. Afterwards he lay back in my bed, wrapped his arms around me again. Then, he kissed me once more, and said, "and Lex I do love you. I love you more than you could possibly imagine."

So I said the only thing I could think of, "thanks," I said, my cheeks flushing a deep pink. I lowered my head, and whispered, "I love you too, Dad," before he switched off the lights, and said, "good night, Son." He was gone before I woke up, but there was a note. It said:

Lex,

I'll be back to visit you again in a few weeks. Until then remember this, I LOVE YOU,

Dad

P.S: Don't ever call me Lionel again. It's not nearly as sexy as you think.


	8. The Broken Boy

AN: I'm changing the whole story again, this time for season three episode _Shattered_. This is my version of what Lionel (if he was a halfway decent human being) would have done at the end of the episode.

"Precious and fragile things  
Need special handling  
My God what have we done to you  
We always tried to share  
The tenderest of care  
Now look what we have put you through, Martin Gore

Lionel Luthor stood staring through the two-way mirror. A pale reflection of his son sat in the corner, rocking back and forth. Lionel tried to convince himself that he was doing the right thing. Lex needed this. It was either keep him in this place, or let Edge kill him. He tried to convince himself the throbbing ache in his chest was connected to the ammonia stench of the hospital hallway, but couldn't.

"I want to see my son," Luthor said. Dr. Foster spun around completely stunned. Her face was enough to show just how uneasy she felt about the situation. "He's my child, and he's in pain. He needs me." Lionel won in the end, but then of course, he always won. He walked into Lex's room, lowering himself to his son's level.

The boy stared off into space, occasionally whimpering, as though he saw something he didn't like. "Take him off the medication, all of it," Lionel ordered, undoing the straps on the back of the boy's straightjacket, and laying Lex's limp head against his chest.

"You can't take that off. He has a tendency towards violent outbursts…it's a side effect of the medication," she began to try and explain, but Lionel refused to allow it.

"Would this be the same treatment I just ordered you to discontinue?" Lionel's voice was calm, and unrelenting. Dr. Foster knew she didn't have a choice. Lionel sat with his son for hours. Eventually, the hours turned into days, in time and Lex would be brought home. "I had his room redone. He likes soft mattresss, down pillows, and silk sheets, everything in this light purple color. I think he's starting to come out of the fog."

Luthor held his son for hours, and the hours became days. On the first night together Lex hardly made a sound. Lionel held him all night, never letting go for more than an instant. He patted his son softly between the shoulders, kissed his cheeks, forehead.

The second night seemed to be the worst. Lex pulled himself out of his father's arms six, seven, eight times, he whimpered, sobbed. Lex's body quivered, tears ran down his face. He cried loudly, but made soft child-like sounds. Lionel thought he might be making attempts to speak, but doctor Foster told him it wasn't possible.

"Lex's brain is mush," she explained. "He won't be coming back, ever. It's another side-effect of the drugs." Luthor had growled at the remark.

"Get the hell away from my son!" He shouted. "NOW!" Once out of Lex's room, Dr. Foster rushed down the hall and into her office, locking the door. An hour to he was finally able to get Lex calmed down again. It also took many hugs, soft kisses, a promise from Lionel, "I will never shout, yell, or scream again," and two little white pills. Later, Lionel apologized to the doctor for his rude behavior, but fired her all the same. Lex was transferred home the next morning.

On the third day Lex spoke for the first time since he had been hospitalized. Lionel was holding the boy, kissing his face, whispering to him softly. "It's okay now, Lex. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I made a mistake, but—I'm sorry. It's all over now, and you're going to be just fine. You'll see, Lex. It's all right now. Everything is okay."

Lex had been laying still, eyes closed, head pressed between his father's left cheek and shoulder. His eyes open suddenly, focusing on his father. They seemed clear for the first time in weeks.

His lips parted, and he whimpered softly, "Daddy?" Lex's voice was rough, and cracked. Lionel felt the same emotional response he had the very first time he heard his son he utter the word. At first he thought it couldn't have been true. _Lex is gone_, the doctor seemed to be right, but when the boy repeated it, Lionel was positive. Lex really was coming out of it. Everything _was_ going to be all right.

"That's it. Good boy. That's my good boy," he cried, really physically cried, which of course triggered the same reaction in his son, but Lionel knew this too was a good thing. Lex was responding to his surroundings, which meant that he had to be somewhat aware of his surroundings.

"That's it good boy. It's okay," Lionel explained, collecting himself. He was almost shocked when Lex not only attempted to copy, but actually stopped crying. "No. No it's all right. You're allowed to cry. It's okay. Daddy's here. Daddy's here. I've got you. Look, I'm crying too, see?" Lex began to cry again, and Lionel rocked with him for hours, hoping for another breakthrough, but Lex fell asleep afterwards, completely exhausted.

On the fourth day Lex got out of bed on his own, went to the bathroom by himself, took a shower, brushed his teeth, got dressed, and went downstairs all without saying a word. Lionel tried to look into his eyes, expecting a change, but Lex's stare was no less blank than it had been the day before.

"Lex, I don't—would you like to come to the office with me? We can't start working together again until we figure out a way to communicate with each other. Lex said nothing, but nodded.

Lionel couldn't help but think of the past. _How the hell did I get to this place? How could I hurt my son so badly? _ Morgan had always been bigger, stronger, meaner—not that he was a saint—lord knows he'd done plenty of things wrong, and was just as responsible, but in every situation Lionel had also known that he didn't have a choice.

Edge wanted to kill Lex, and he convinced himself it would be better to have a sick son than a dead one. With Morgan gone for good…all he had to do now was bring his little boy back and pray that the damage wasn't permanent. "Lex, I—how about we stay home again today? I don't wanna go all the way to Metropolis and back—"

And then something unexpected happened. Lionel felt his son's fist collide with his chest, weakly, and when he turned his face down, Lex was looking at him, frustrated, and helpless, trapped in his poor, shattered brain.

"Fuck," Lex wept. The words were there. His thoughts were—somewhat—there. Yes, he was confused, tired, scared, nervous, angry, but he could push through it, get past the barriers. If he forced himself—he might—he would get better. All he had to do was force the ideas and thoughts into words and actions. "You," he gasped, completing the statement. _Damnit! Why does this have to be so hard?_

"I'm not going to treat you like garbage any more—and yes, I'm admitting to everything. Regardless of your condition, you _are_ my son. I should act like a father, treat you well, show you how much I love you. I do love you Can I have a hug? Good boy. I'm sorry—for everything."

"You—?" Lionel had to cut his son off again. This was torture. It was too hard watching him struggle. This was like his childhood asthma, only worse, a lot worse.

"Lex, you don't have to do this right now. You have made remarkable progress in the last two days. If you push yourself too hard, you could cause a set back—I'm not trying to keep you from remembering what happened. I'll tell you everything you want to know, and in time, when you are ready, you will remember too.

"Most of my control issues go back to my parents, but not all of them. Morgan Edge is responsible for a lot of my problems. I'm not condoning my behavior, but he was older than me when we were growing up, stronger, bigger, you understand? He wanted to kill you, and—I did the wrong thing, but…I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

That night Lex pushed away from his father, curling up on the very edge of the bed. Lionel got the message, got out of bed, moved a chair across the room, and say next to his son. Lex stayed in the same place, though, and Lionel slept in the chair every night for a week and a half, eleven days.

Then one day Lex changed. That's not exactly accurate. The change happened over a period of several days. Progress was slow, but steady. Lex felt good—almost good. He was crying a lot less, smiling more, figuring things out faster, and remembering more. When Lex woke up in the morning, he saw his father sleeping, his legs spread, head tilted to the side, pants spread tight across his crotch. He tried to watch silently, but eventually Lionel woke up and said, "You're staring."

"Sorry, I just—I guess I never noticed how fat you were before. Your shirt hardly fits you, and those pants, well maybe you should think about going up a size…or taking them off." Lex smiled, raising his eyebrows slightly. Lionel surveyed him carefully before he smiled as well. He moved to Lex's bed, sat right next to his son, and pulled the sheets down, but said nothing, did nothing else. "What? Not like you've never seen _that_ before."

"Welcome back," Lionel replied, gently patting him on the back, and slowly unbuttoning his own shirt, sliding it over his shoulders, and dropping it to the floor, on top of the pile of Lex's pajamas. "I love you, Son."

"How do I know you're not gonna do…something like _that_ again?"

"I don't know what to tell you. I doubt there's anything I could say to make you believe otherwise. I am sorry, Lex. I can not even begin to tell you just how…"

"Stop! I guess we're just gonna have to keep trying until we get it right." Lex paused. "I'm game if you are."

"Of course," Lionel promised, hugging him tightly. "I love you, Son." Lex nodded, but found himself currently unable to say the same. "Everything is going to be all right. I promise."

"I hope so," Lex told him, laying his face against his father's chest. " I'm sorry—I didn't mean to make you…but I can't. Can you please, just hold me for a little bit, okay?" Lionel did this, kissing Lex very gently from time to time, wondering if he would ever be able to forgive himself.


	9. All By Myself

Alternate ending for season three episode _Phoenix _in which Lex and Lionel try to figure out where to pick their relationship up, and whether or not that relationship is worth fighting for.

"Been thinking about you,  
and there's no rest.  
Should I still love you?  
Still see you in bed,  
but I'm playing with myself.  
What do you care,  
when I'm not there?  
All the things you've got,  
That you'll never need  
All the things you've got  
I'm planning to please you," Radiohead

"You knew didn't you? About Hel—about her?" The words came out like an accusation, but I didn't mean for it to sound that way.

"I had my suspicions when the woman came back from your honeymoon alone."

"And before we got married?"

"Lex, if I didn't know better I'd think you wanted me to say, 'I told you so.'"

"Might give me a sense of normalcy."

"All that matters to me is that she is gone, and I get to have my son back." Dad put one arm around my waist, and ran the other hand over the back of my head.

"I wanna know if she bamboozled both of us, or if you—or if I'm just a total idiot. You did try and pay her to leave me alone, you must have had some reason for doing that."

"I would have done the same thing regardless of my feelings towards whomever you were dating—before you start screaming listen to me for a minute. I did the exact same thing to your mother."

"And she didn't kill you?"

"Almost, she was even more upset than you were, and she threatened to leave me. The only thing I could think of to do, to calm her down was ask her to marry me," my father explained, looking off into the distance as if he could see her standing across the room.

"And she said yes?"

"No—actually she smacked me, screamed, cried, refused to speak to me for a week and five—no six days—and then she said yes. I didn't like Helen, but I never thought she might try and kill you." The whole time we were talking Dad had been leading me down the halls, up the stairs, and back towards the bedroom. "Go lay down, and take off your shirt. I think I have some lotion for those sunburns."

"You're leaving me?" I asked almost desperately. "I—I'm sorry but I just spent three months alone on an island, and I didn't even have a volleyball to talk to. I don't like being by myself."

"It's alright," he whispered, wrapping his arm around my waist again. "You come with me to get the lotion. Then we'll go back to the bedroom and take care of those nasty burns." He kissed my forehead, but my skin was so tender I had to pull away. "Don't worry, you'll feel better soon," he promised.

"You said something the day you gave me the plane tickets. Our wedding present you said. You said you were giving us—our own private island, and the whole time I was—I could help but think…"

"No!" he shouted, pulling my body much too close, hugging me far to tightly. "No, I would never. I wanted the two of you to have some privacy, but never this. Never this."

"I didn't think you wanted me…dead, but I kind of figured you had to be involved. You were the one who buried an empty casket, and put up a headstone with my name carved into it."

"That wasn't me! She couldn't inherit your money, or the mansion, or anything as long as you were still listed missing." Dad gave me another hug, holding me too tightly. He pressed his face into my neck, breathing sharply. It took me a moment to realize just how hard he was working to keep from crying.

"I'm alright, Dad. Well, I will be as soon as the sunburns get better. I shouldn't have asked. It's—we were fighting and then you said, and…I'm sorry." My father nodded, and let me go, patting my back softly. "I guess I was alone and desperate for so long, that my mind came up with all these crazy ideas."

"I'd hardly call it crazy, Son. There were only two possibilities. Either I tried to kill you, or if the woman you fell in love with, conned you into believing she felt the same way."

Dad found the burn lotion, and took me back to the bedroom. I wasn't really surprised by the things he had done since I got home, or by what he was telling me, but I was shocked as we stepped into my old room.

"It's exactly the same as when I left. You sentimental old fool." Dad smiled, and helped me take my shirt off. I heard him gasp when he saw my chest. "The only clothes I could find were the ones I had on, and my shirt got shredded in the crash."

Dad said, "you got a terrible sunburn when you were a little boy. It made you so sore that you couldn't sleep for days. Lillian and I took turns staying up with you. Lex there's something I wanted—I didn't sleep the entire time you were gone. Every time I tried, I'd see the most god-awful things happening to you." He turned his head away, sighing. "Is the lotion helping at all?"

My father was kneeling over my chest, his legs on either side of my body, as he rubbed the stuff all over arms and chest. He wasn't touching anything lower than my bellybutton though. At first I thought he would get there eventually, but then I began to realize he was doing this intentionally. Dad would massage the lotion into my shoulders, down my arms, back up to my pecks, and then down my slender stomach. Then he would start the whole process over again.

"It's not as bad own there—below my waist. Luckily my pants survived almost the whole time. My legs did get a little burnt. Not to mention the fact that I haven't had sex in almost four months."

"Shh, it's all—I just—I thought you were dead, and then you come back here, and your whole body—I can hardly stand to see you sick—this is… for tonight I need some time to get used to having my little boy back."

"If you're calling me that, I know there's no chance of the two of us having sex for at three days, but could you at least put the lotion on my legs, it does seem to be helping." Dad gently lowered my pants, finished applying the lotion, quickly, and then held me in his arms for an hour or so.

"Lex I'm sorry. I have always felt—"

"You never hurt me. I wasn't afraid of you. I didn't think you're a bad person, I don't think anybody would. I feel like—even though we have had our problems there was always at least one way for us to connect, for you and me to be close, and knowing this made me feel better. The only reason I didn't leave during the bad years was because we had this."

"You depended on me to take care of you and I took advantage of the situation, of your trust."

"Dad we've had this conversation a million times. If you did abuse me you sure as hell wouldn't feel badly about what you did. You wouldn't think you were guilty."

"That sounds like an easy loophole to me, Lex. Don't you think?"

"I think you love me, and you and I have always had difficulty getting along. Sometimes families like ours don't make it at all. A kid like me would have left for college and never come back—and if we hadn't found something to bond over, I would have ended up hating you. 

"That might have been better for you," he said, softly, and he touched my face. "You don't know how to act around people, how to talk to them, how to have a normal relationship with anyone."

"And you think this is because we had sex, and not because you raised me to be—whatever you wanted me to be?"

"You wouldn't call _that_ abuse?"

"Bad parenting, maybe, but there is a difference. You sent me to Smallville because you thought I'd be better off here. You thought I would be safe without you. Abusive people don't send their kids away to save them—to protect them."

"Again you've created an easy loophole. All I have to do is worry about your safety just a little, and suddenly I'm father of the year."

"You're a terrible father, and you did a crappy job of raising me, but you do love me. You do care."

"Yes, I do," he said, gently pulling my body closer to him, kissing my neck. "Yes, I do. I love you so much, Lex. I love you so much."


End file.
